


i wanna see you lookin' up

by sarcasticfishes



Series: where your hands should be [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Drinking Games, Hair-pulling, M/M, Past Shane Madej/Sara Rubin, they're still real good buds tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 05:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: “I have a theory that you’re the best here at giving head.”Shane misses his mouth with his drink, and absolutely does not notice.“You have?”“Out of everyone here, yeah. Theoretically. In my opinion. That’s the game,” Ryan replies, and Shane can’t tell if Ryan’s actually desperately trying to keep his cool and succeeding, or he’s just drunk enough that he doesn’t care that he’s just said that. “You just have that vibe.”





	i wanna see you lookin' up

**Author's Note:**

> it is nearly 3am so apologies for any mistakes missed in the initial proofing. [the game mentioned in this is real and also awful but fun.](https://www.thestagcompany.com/stag-weekends-blog/paranoia-drinking-game)
> 
> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. your name in the tags? please don't read this lmao

“We’re playing _Paranoia_.”

Sara has her palms spread out on the table, and there’s a glint in her eyes that Shane’s seen so many times before, so many devious, _devious_ times before.

The party has whittled down to most of his close(r) friends and those who just like to keep the party going. Every so often he sees Keith or Garrett looming and laughing in a doorway, Ryan drifting in and out of his peripheral like a pair of floating biceps. Now with everyone gathered around the dining table, stuffed into Shane’s tiny new kitchen, he wonders how many people actually _had_ shown up to his party; the small portion that remains feels like a rager all by itself.

“Fuck _yes_ , I _love_ Paranoia,” Freddie is peeping over Sara’s shoulder, looking enthralled, and Shane has no idea what’s about to happen or even what is currently happening.

“Is this a drinking game?” he asks.

“It’s not beer pong,” Ryan says, and there’s a collective groan, which is a thing that Shane hadn’t previously thought happened in real life — all his friends, a united front against beer pong. It’s a beautiful sight.

“Everyone shush!” Sara’s voice is authoritative despite her tiny stature, and Shane kind of loves that she can command a room like so. He gives her a fond smile and sips from his beer bottle. He’s well on his way to trashed, and a drinking game probably isn’t the best idea right now, but— no actually, it’s a great idea. He’s drunk, and it’s a great idea.

“Paranoia is simple.” Sara begins to explain. “We make a circle. Zach, get beside me here. I’m going to whisper a question to you, and you have to answer the question with the name of someone in the group. Example, I could ask, ‘who has the cutest butt?’”

Shane snorts. It’s a _very_ Sara question.

She continues: “You have to answer _aloud_. The person whose name you say can then decide whether they wanna know what the question is or not, but in order to find out they must first drink! If not, we move on, and everyone is none the wiser to what filthy horrible question has been asked.”

Zach looks pretty fucked up already; it’s sweltering mid-May, and he has an old black and white Buzzfeed toque shoved down over his head for some godforsaken reason. Regardless, he nods and tilts his head down slightly so Sara can lean up and whisper into his ear. Those participating in the game — almost everyone — have circled around the table. Amongst them, they’ve got Andrew looking alert and ready to murder, Jen slouching on her elbow drowsily, and Ryan smirking behind his solo cup like the embodiment of frat boy that he is. It’s weirdly hot and endearing at the same time.

Sara’s giggling as she whispers to Zach, who rolls his eyes.

“Oh it’s gotta be Ryan, right? Ryan. Duh.” he answers, and Ryan’s instantly swallowing down the remainder of whatever he was nursing in his cup, jabbing his finger in Zach’s direction as everyone laughs.

“The fuck you saying about me, Kornfeld?”

“I just said you probably have the nicest dick, is all, don’t yell at me!”

There’s an explosion of noise from the gang around the table, screaming from various members of their ensemble, and Shane has the urge to drink deeply if _that’s_ the question they’re starting with. Aren’t the beginner questions supposed to be tame?

“ _Nice_? What does _nice_ mean?!”

“It’s an amalgam of things!” Zach splutters, “Like, like, girth and length and curvature and dick-to-balls-ratio, uh—”

The noise level rises _again_ , and Shane’s kitchen is already fit to burst. Sara catches his gaze across the circle, her eyes glittering with tears of laughter. Shane’s so glad she’s there, even if she _is_ a little hellraiser.

“Can we have the next question before Bergara gets his dick out _please_.”

“I’m not gonna, c’mon, why would I—”

Shane’s got a good enough buzz going that he sort of drifts out of the game, despite staying in the circle. He watches Ryan refill his cup with a bottle of rum handed to him by Jen, his grin as blinding as ever, settling something in Shane’s chest, making him feel soft inside. He laughs that bright, sharp laugh of his that makes him look kind of dumb in a way that Shane loves. There’s a few rounds of shot-taking as questions get friskier and riskier, and he feels bad for his new neighbors, even though he’d warned them beforehand about this ‘little’ shindig.

“You gonna drink, Shane?” Devon asks at his elbow, and he looks down at her, surprised.

“Am I what now?”

“Oh, he’s _drunk_ ,” Keith laughs, looking like he’s about to bite his own fist. Everyone’s eyes are on Shane, and he can’t help think that as glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked and _trashed_ his friends all are, they are all so very beautiful to him. He purposefully does not look at Sara this time, does not look at Ryan either, but he doesn’t know why.

“I was _dissociating_ ,” Shane stresses, “It has nothing to do with the fact that yes, I am drunk. Which one of you fucks is talking about me?”

“Oh it’s your beloved Boogara, who else would it be,” Andrew drawls, narrowing his eyes at Ryan next to him. Ryan looks nonplussed altogether, swirling the drink in his cup.

“It was honestly a compliment,” Ryan says airily, reaching up to twist his baseball cap around, pushing the peak to the back. The movement stretches his t-shirt tight across his chest and arms and Shane kind of forgets what’s happening for all of six seconds.

“Well I wanna _know_ , obviously,” Shane says, when he comes back to his senses with a little elbowing from Keith, “But I don’t think I should drink anymore. It’s a dilemma”

Sara claps her hands together crisply. “Okay so, new penalty! You have to kiss the person who says your name if you want to know the question.”

Shane’s eyes narrow at her. “This was your game all along, Rubin. Turning this into a big ol’ kissing party. Look at you, you’re so smug. You’re just— you’re smug.”

“You really _are_ drunk if you can’t think of a synonym for _smug_.”

“It’s a specific word!”

“Complacent, self-satisfied, conceited—”

Shane holds his hand out into the circle. “Someone give me a drink.”

Ryan hands over his rum, which Shane gladly takes. Ryan’s eyes are on him as he lifts the cup to his lips.

“I have a theory that you’re the best here at giving head.”

The cup misses Shane’s mouth altogether. He absolutely does not notice.

“You have?”

“Out of everyone here, yeah. Theoretically. In my opinion. That’s the game,” Ryan replies, and Shane can’t tell if Ryan’s actually desperately trying to keep his cool and succeeding, or he’s just drunk enough that he doesn’t care that he’s just said _that_. “You just have that vibe.”

Shane finally gets the lip of the cup to his mouth, and swallows down the two fingers of rum that Ryan had left in it. There’s a strange pseudo-silence hovering over the group, broken by the occasional giggle and the crackle of Ryan’s solo cup in Shane’s hand.

“Well,” Sara clears her throat. “You’re not wrong.”

The shrieking returns all at once, and Shane leans across the table to high five her as he’s being poured another drink.

.

Shane finds himself in his tiny backyard as the sun is starting to rise, sitting at the end of his lounger and nursing a beer. He has his feet in the grass, and he’s not so much buzzed anymore as he is mellow. The house is quiet behind him, various friends sleeping all over the place, and 33 feels like a good age to be.

He hears footsteps and a short sigh, and doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Ryan joining him at the edge of the patio. Ryan sits behind him, higher up on the sun-lounger, puts his feet either side of Shane’s hips and lies back with a groan.

“Haven’t hosted a party like that in _years_ ,” Shane says, and sips his beer.

“Alright, old man,” Ryan scoffs, and nudges at Shane with the ball of his foot. “Did you have fun?”

“The most,” Shane says, without embellishment. At more of Ryan’s prodding, he lies back against Ryan’s chest, and it doesn’t even feel weird the way he thought it might. His legs dangle off the end of the lounger, but he’s comfortable there. “That drinking game got real wild real quick though. I had to duck out.”

“Yeah, Andrew ended up telling a story I really wish I hadn’t heard.”

“Caught the tail end of that one,” Shane admits, “Wasn’t impressed.”

Ryan laughs, chest shuddering under Shane’s weight against him. Idly, Ryan reaches up and drags his fingers through Shane’s hair. It had been somewhat styled at the beginning of the night, but now lay curling against his forehead, a little sweaty. Ryan pushes it back off his face, and then keeps stroking him, slow and soothing.

“You and Sara seem okay,” Ryan offers, breezily, and Shane hums in agreement.

“We are,” he says, “Maybe everyone will stop giving us those sad looks when we talk at the office now.”

It's been difficult to explain exactly how mutual their breakup had been — for whatever reason, no one seems to want to believe Shane when he explains that they're both okay, that they're friends now. Sometimes a relationship comes to its natural conclusion, and that's fine.

“She really backed me up during Paranoia,” Ryan says, a fond edge to his tone, and Shane starts to laugh aloud, tipping his head back against Ryan's shoulder.

“Do you really think that about me?” he chuckles, and there's a visceral memory of the way Ryan had looked at him, and the shape of his mouth when he'd said he thought Shane gave good head. Shane has to repress a shiver, blames it on the cool night air.

Ryan has stalled, his hand still caught in Shane's hair. Slowly his fingers curl inward, and he's just holding onto a fistful of hair on top of Shane's head, holding him in place. Then just a quickly, he releases, and Shane lets out a short breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

“You're a giver, Shane,” Ryan says, eventually, like he's carefully choosing his words (for once). “You like to make other people happy.”

“True,” Shane murmurs.

“You just have that vibe. Helpful, loving, dedicated. Seems like you're that kind of guy that would allow that to translate into sex.”

“That's surprisingly eloquent of you.”

“Yeah well, I'm not tryna dirty talk you in your backyard at 5am,” Ryan laughs, grabbing Shane's hair again, and Shane's eyes fall closed on a sigh.

“Pity,” he says, and Ryan's still laughing, gently tugging at Shane's scalp. Shane's a little hard, getting towards half mast at least, but there's not a lot to do about it. He wonders if Ryan would say anything if Shane just reached down, gripped himself through his jeans to relieve the pressure.

“What about you?” Shane heard himself asking, and he's been nursing the question like the lukewarm beer in his hand, which he sets down on the concrete next to his chair. Ryan hums out a questioning noise as he takes a drink, shifting a little behind Shane like he's trying to get more comfortable. If Shane didn't know better, if he didn't think it was the zipper of Ryan's jeans bulging awkwardly, he'd say Ryan's getting hard too. The thought makes something sharp and warm stir in his belly.

“Am I good at oral?” Ryan asks, and there's humour in his voice. Shane squeezes— uh, Ryan's thigh under his hand, _huh_ . He's not sure _when_ he put his hand there, but he idly runs his palm down to Ryan's calf regardless. It feels nice, firm and toned under Shane's touch.

“That is certainly a question,” Shane answers, his voice a little tight. “Not quite what I was getting at.”

“Mmm?” Ryan takes a drink of his own beer, and Shane can feel the movement of his swallow against his cheek. Their stubble scratches together and it's not unpleasant.

“What Zach said,” Shane hedges, “About your nice dick.”

Ryan sputters out another laugh, warm and bright, and Shane melts into him just a touch more.

“Zach wouldn't know a nice dick if it slapped him in the face.”

Shane's shaking with laughter too, his face turned towards the sky. If he tilted his head just slightly to the left he could — he could kiss Ryan's jaw.

“I have an idea,” he says. “And I know it's going to sound crazy.”

“Oh boy,” Ryan says, and Shane can hear the grin in his voice.

“But I think maybe you should let me suck you.”

Ryan makes this strange little choked-off sound, like hiccuping in the middle of a breath, like he’d been about to laugh and then stopped right in his tracks. His hand is still in Shane’s hair — and Shane honest to god thinks maybe he would like it to remain there for _oh_ the rest of his life — and his thighs neatly frame Shane’s hips, legs bent and toes pointed towards Shane’s knees. They’re both very still, and Shane realises he hadn’t been imagining Ryan’s hard-on at _all_ , because it is suddenly very present between them.

“Is that... something you might want?” Shane asks, when a few more seconds tick by without an answer.

“My—” Ryan chokes, seemingly dumbfounded.

“It just seemed like a good solution,” Shane posits. “I get to see your dick and you find out how good I am with my mouth.”

“Yes, it’s...” Ryan sounds vaguely dazed, and there’s the clink of his beer bottle as he sets it down next to Shane’s on the ground. “An excellent solution.”

“Do you want that?” Shane turns his head again just so, and they’re so close it’s ridiculous. Even now, if someone saw them like this, even now before Shane has even gotten to his knees; they look _cozy._

“Do you?” Ryan asks, and then quickly follows with, “It’s _your_ birthday, man, if anyone should be getting a birthday blowjob...”

Shane grins and wriggles back a little against Ryan, loves the way Ryan can’t seem to help but grind right back against him, huffing out a deep groan as he does. Now that he’s thinking about it, Shane _really_ wants this to happen.

“Please let me suck your cock, Ryan,” Shane sighs, and Ryan’s free hand comes around to Shane’s stomach, sliding down until he feels the bulge of Shane’s dick under his hand, hard too.

“Yeah, please,” Ryan replies, almost too breathy to even make a sound, and Shane starts to turn over, kneeling at the end of the lounger. He goes for Ryan’s belt, and Ryan lifts his hips into it, helping Shane undo his fly, pull down his jeans and boxer briefs. There’s very little fanfare about it. One moment he’s fully dressed and the next he’s not, jeans caught up around his knees.

Shane pauses there and just, _looks_. Because yeah. Zach was right, somehow, although he’d probably take back what he’d said if he knew Ryan was uncircumcised. Shane smiles at the thought.

“Yep. That’s, that’s a really nice dick you got. Good junk, Ryan.”

Ryan wheezes out a nervous little laugh when Shane gets close to him. “Thanks? It’s. I guess.”

“No it’s, uh,” Shane sighs, feels his mouth watering. “I actively would love to put my mouth on you right now.”

“Christ,” Ryan says, and wriggles a little more, tries to pull his leg out of his jeans. “Help me out here, please?”

Shane pulls off Ryan’s sneakers one by one and tosses them aside, and then helps him the rest of the way out of his jeans, leaving Ryan in just his t-shirt (too tight in the chest and arms, loose around his hips) and looking like a goddamn dream.

Ryan spreads his legs, cock curving up towards his stomach, his feet flat on the ground either side of the lounger. Shane mirrors his position, sitting astride the foot of the chair, and leans in. The movement seems to startle Ryan, like he’s maybe just realised what’s about happen.

“Okay?” Shane asks, and licks his lips.

“Fuck, Shane, yes,” Ryan says, and then groans as Shane touches his cock, fingers wrapped loosely around the base, sliding up with a firm squeeze. It’s thick in his hand, not obscenely long but decent. Shane, a little dazedly, thinks it suits Ryan pretty perfectly.

“Please,” Ryan croaks, so Shane sinks down and takes him in his mouth.

Admittedly, it’s been a while since he’s sucked any kind of dick, what with the whole long-term girlfriend and the being internet famous and not exactly publicly _out_ just yet. But Shane figures it’s really like riding a bicycle, or something else that’s easy to forget and relearn with a little practice. From the way Ryan shudders under him, sighing out a moan, fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs, he doesn’t really notice anything particularly off, regarding Shane’s technique.

Slowly, tentatively, Ryan puts his hand in Shane’s hair. And it’s just like earlier, when he had his fingers wrapped in the strands, playfully tugging and stroking, except it’s not at _all_ like earlier. Ryan rests his palm against the crown of Shane’s head, not pushing or pulling, but the reassuring pressure of it makes Shane’s mouth water again, with the thought that Ryan _could_ push him down.

“God, Shane, your mouth,” Ryan says, and Shane goes down as far as he can, takes as much as he can and then just _holds_ Ryan’s cock in his throat, listening to Ryan’s hiccuping breaths and the sounds of the morning rising around them. A car driving past at the other side of the house, a dog barking in the distance, Ryan’s soft panting and then Shane’s own involuntary groan as he pulls back to catch a breath.

They go on for a while, Shane purposefully taking Ryan apart as slowly and teasingly as he can bear, almost luxuriating in the weight of a cock on his tongue, and the fact that it’s Ryan touching his face, looking down at him with warm, dark eyes. Ryan’s mouth is so red, so bitten, his knuckles so white on the arm of the chair that Shane knows — with a sense of smugness — that he hasn’t lost touch with this particular talent of his.

Ryan’s thighs go taut and tense with the building pleasure, and Shane finally kicks things up a gear, sucking sloppily and getting noisy as Ryan’s hips shift beneath him, straining with the effort of staying still. Shane wants to encourage him too move, to fuck his mouth, but he just doesn’t want to take his mouth off of Ryan — so he reaches out.

Ryan gasps a little when Shane takes his hand and presses his down against his head.

_Do it. Do it do it do it._

“God, Shane, if you let me do that I’ll come in point-three-seconds flat, I swear to god.”

Shane just hums happily, almost laughing when Ryan chokes on his own words, back arching and hips lifting towards Shane’s mouth, heat-seeking.

“God I’m so clo— Jesus Christ, you— you’re gonna make me come,” Ryan breathes, a long rush of words that run-in and stutter and shake with the tremor in his voice. Shane looks up at him, thinks ‘ _I sure fuckin’ hope so’_ , and just hopes his face communicates that adequately enough. He’s knows there’s just _something_ about this angle that makes him look good, makes his cheeks more hollow when he sucks, his eyes darker and bigger beneath his brows. Ryan looks him in the eye and honest to god _moans_ , slapping a palm over his mouth when they both remember where they are, that most of their friends are still inside Shane’s house, maybe twenty yards away or less.

And maybe that’s what makes Ryan come as hard as he does. It’s as simple as a gentle tug on his hair and a whisper of “Oh fuck, _Shane_ ,” and he feels that telltale swell and twitch right before the first spurt of come. Shane tries to figure out if he’s annoyed that Ryan didn’t really warn him all that much, and then figures that he might have been slightly annoyed if Ryan _hadn’t_ let him swallow — and he doesn’t really know what to do with that information. He just knows he’s looking at Ryan, Ryan is looking at him and coming in his mouth, and Shane hasn’t felt this satisfied by his own efforts in a long, long time.

Ryan pushes him off as he starts to go soft, and Shane sits back, wincing as his back cracks, and the noise forces a little giggle out of Ryan’s mouth. He looks so sleepy, so very sated. Soft. Shane really wants to cuddle. He’s hard, but not urgent to get off.

“Okay you win,” Ryan slurs, looking so fucking blissed out that Shane can’t quite believe _he_ did that to him.

“Win?” Shane croaks, and then makes a face at how wrecked his voice sounds. He reaches down for his beer to take a drink, and Ryan giggles again.

“I wanna sleep now but I gotta put my dick away.”

“You don’t _gotta_ ,” Shane says, “It’s a walled garden.”

“There’s people in your house,” Ryan laughs. “They’ll see me.”

“They won’t be complaining about it,” Shane shrugs, as Ryan throws back his head in delight. Shane finds Ryan’s boxer-briefs with his jeans at the bottom of the lounger as passes them over, watching Ryan clumsily slide them up his legs and then tuck himself away. It’s enough decency for now.

The silence isn’t awkward, like Shane thought it might have been if he had ever imagined this scenario before. Which he hadn’t. Not _this_ particular scenario, at least, where the sun is almost risen and Ryan’s looking sweetly fucked out in Shane’s back garden, and Shane is thirty-three years old and suddenly thinking about maybe dating men again.

“I wanna do something for you, but I’m not sure anything I can offer up will compare to _that_ ,” Ryan says after a while, and it’s almost shy the way he mumbles it. Shane rubs a hand over Ryan’s thigh and squeezes it playfully.

“I’m good,” he says, honestly. “You can owe me one, bud.”

“Owe you two, since it’s your birthday,” Ryan proposes, and Shane’s not gonna argue with that at all. Quite happily, he crawls forward and puts his head down on Ryan’s chest, slumping comfortably. He’s surprised and pleased when Ryan’s arms come up around him and pull him closer, and— Ryan puts his hand in Shane’s hair.

Shane hums happily, a noise of agreement.

“Yeah,” he says. “Owe me two.”

**Author's Note:**

> every time u leave a nice comment an angel gets their dick sucked


End file.
